The Emerald Mark
by aldalindil
Summary: Death Eater Severus Snape has returned to Hogwarts. He expects to be reviled but learns more than he bargained for and finds understanding from an unexpected source. The time has come at last for Minerva McGonagall to pay for the sins of her past.
1. Default Chapter

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Disclaimer: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, and all related characters, ideas, and materials belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.

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Author's Notes: This story is connected—if loosely—to my fanfic "Warmth of Crimson, Chill of Emerald." It's the first in a planned series of related stories in what I think of as a "fic web" or story arc. They will all be connected in some way, but won't necessarily all be set in the same universe, and won't all be sequels or prequels of one another, if that makes sense. A timeline in my author profile (updated with each fic addition) shows how the stories line up with one another chronologically.

Like other stories in the fic web, "The Emerald Mark" can connect with the rest of the web in a number of ways. You could consider it an AU sequel to the flashback events in "Warmth of Crimson, Chill of Emerald" (and assume "Pride of Lions" and other stories set after "The Emerald Mark" just don't have the backstory set out in this fic). Alternatively, you can consider "The Emerald Mark" a true sequel to the events in "Warmth of Crimson, Chill of Emerald," and a true prequel to any (or all) subsequent stories. That's the point of the fic web: I'll write the stories, and you, the readers, can pick and choose which ones you'd like to line up. It's like a "choose your own adventure" story, only you're choosing Minerva's. ;)

Regardless, I hope you enjoy reading. If you do—or even if you don't—feedback is more than welcome.

[July 9, 2003: Please note that chapter one has been edited in order to be consistent with new details revealed in "Order of the Phoenix."]

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The Emerald Mark

Chapter One

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An insistent knocking upon Minerva McGonagall's door woke her from a sound sleep. She sighed as she climbed out of bed, put on her spectacles, and pulled her tartan robe about her hastily. Times being what they were, late-night callers were never bearers of good news. Cold tentacles of fear snaked their way outwards from her stomach as she crossed the front room of her apartment and pulled open the door. Her hand flew to her throat in trepidation when she saw Albus Dumbledore standing there in his grey woollen night-shirt and violet cloak, looking grave. Minerva did not waste time on pleasantries. After all, she knew why he was here and what was the matter; she simply lacked the specific details of this particular visit.

Albus also did not bother with polite conversation. "I have need of you, Minerva," he said quietly, sounding tired.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Minerva breathed, reaching automatically to her sleeve for her wand, though it was currently in its customary nighttime place under her pillow. "Is someone hurt? Are we under attack? What can I do?"

He raised a wrinkled hand to stop her questions. "It's nothing so serious as an attack, my dear."

"Oh, thank heavens," she whispered, willing her heart to stop pounding so loudly in her ears. Concerned again, she looked at him over her spectacles. "What _is_ it, then?"

Albus frowned behind his beard. "I have a wounded wildcat in my office," he replied slowly, his eyes regaining a bit of their customary sparkle. 

"A wildcat." Minerva arched an eyebrow. "Why on earth did you not take it to Poppy, or Kettleburn, or even Hagrid?"

"Well…" The headmaster gave her a piercing look. "You've been a cat. You'll understand him better than anyone else."

Minerva shook her head in confusion, causing her hairnet to waggle back and forth behind her. "Him?"

Albus smiled. "You see, it's--" 

The knocking resumed, and Minerva glared at the door over Albus' shoulder for daring to interrupt him. She blinked, for suddenly the headmaster was gone. She peered about, perplexed, but the room was empty save for herself and the steady "_rap, rap, rap-rap-rap-rap_!" upon the door.

_Rap-rap-rap-rap_! Minerva awoke with a gasp and sat bolt upright in bed. She wished she hadn't immediately as her head started to pound a counterpoint to the infernal knocking. Her hand went up to cradle her forehead, and Minerva sighed. 

"Fucking Sibyll," she whispered, knowing full well the gaudy fraud in the north tower wouldn't recognise a true dream if it kicked her on the arse. It wasn't Trelawney's fault Minerva had the Sight, of course, but in the middle of a dark, stormy night with the aftermath of the dream making Minerva feel as though a parade of hippogriffs were stampeding through her skull, it was easy—and oddly satisfying—to blame her. 

Minerva sighed again as she fumbled for her spectacles on the bedside table and put them on. Perhaps it wasn't a true dream at all, she thought, standing and pulling on her tartan robe. More likely it was just a combination of the rain tapping loudly against the windowpanes and the thunder booming that sounded like knocking. As for the disturbing dream and the headache, well, she knew better than to have a third glass of Ogden's Old Firewhisky before bed. She had just chosen to ignore that knowledge tonight after hearing about the Bones family. Regardless, a cup of tea before the fire would help, since sleep was apparently out of the question for the time being.

_Rap_!_ Rap-rap-rap_! There it was again! Minerva paused on her way to the kitchen, a feeling of foreboding causing gooseflesh to prickle along her arms. She gave the door her sternest glare over the top of her spectacles, willing her dream not to be true. It couldn't be good news this time of night. Pressing her lips together tightly, she strode to the door and pulled it open, mid-knock.

"What _is_ it, Albus?" she asked crossly. "I—oh, Jesus!"

He stood in her doorway, not Albus at all, but a thin, dirty, and thoroughly soaked young man glaring at her behind a curtain of limp, wet hair. He lowered his hand, still poised to knock. "Jesus?" He gave a sardonic smile and gestured to himself. "I think not. Perhaps Judas or even Satan, but certainly not the good Lord himself."

Minerva resisted a strong urge to shut the door in his face. Severus Snape had never been her favourite student, and appearing at her door in the wee hours of the morning was not a good way to curry favour. In fact, she briefly considered taking points from Slytherin even though he had finished at Hogwarts nearly three years ago.

"Snape." She wanted to tell him to go away, but curiosity won out. "What on earth are you _doing_ here?"

He pointedly looked past her shoulder into the living room rather than answering. Minerva sighed and stepped aside. "Yes, come in."

Snape gave a mocking half-bow and swept into the room, though the grandness of the gesture was somewhat diminished by the fact that his muddy boots squelched with every step. Minerva winced to see large clumps of dirt, bits of vegetation, and puddles of filthy water tracked onto her antique rugs. "Make yourself comfortable," she said, resigned to casting at least forty cleansing charms tomorrow. "Tea?"

"Ah…no," he replied, looking surprised. "Thank you." It was clearly an afterthought. 

Minerva shrugged and headed for the kitchen anyway. "Suit yourself," she called over her shoulder. "_I_ refuse to even contemplate why you are here before I have a cup."

She returned moments later with a tray bearing a small green teapot painted with thistles, two matching cups and saucers, and a bottle of Ogden's best. Snape, having apparently dried himself somewhat either with a charm or by the fire, was seated in her armchair, staring at the floor. He looked up as she took a seat on the davenport and set the tray on the coffee table. "I said I did not want tea."

Minerva poured both cups and added a generous dollop of whisky to each. After looking closely at him, she added a bit more. "You're having tea."

"I'm not." He glared.

Minerva set her jaw, peered over her spectacles, and gave him the look she usually reserved for misbehaving students as she extended the cup. "Yes. You. Are."

Snape's eyes widened, and he hastily reached out a pale hand to take the proffered cup and saucer. Minerva smirked and took a long swig of her own.

"Your tea things are hideous," he said, sounding amused. 

"They're Scottish."

"I see."

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping and giving one another sidelong glances. Looking at Snape closely, Minerva saw he was not only filthy, but also injured. He had a bruise splashing violet along one pale cheekbone, dried blood below his rather enormous nose, and what looked like the beginnings of a black eye. He was quite clearly in bad shape, and his hands shook so violently his teacup rattled against the saucer. He caught Minerva looking and clenched the porcelain more tightly. 

At last, Minerva set her cup and saucer on the table. "All right," she said sternly, raising an eyebrow. "Would you care to tell me, Mister Snape, why you have come calling at--" she sneaked a glance at the grandfather clock, "--half-past three in the morning?"

Snape peered at her through locks of greasy hair and shrugged insolently. "I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said I merely wanted to visit a favourite professor?"

Minerva snorted. "I should think not." The young whippersnapper had made no secret of the fact that he loathed her—along with every other Gryffindor at Hogwarts, the headmaster himself included—during his last few years at school.

He shrugged again. "Very well." Raising his head, he looked straight at Minerva, his black eyes flat and dead and empty. "I…" he took a deep breath. "I've come to surrender myself."

She blinked, trying to ignore the terrible suspicion coiling like a dark snake in the back of her mind. "Surrender yourself?" she repeated carefully. "Whatever for?"

Snape's mouth twisted in a warped, bitter smile. "You have no idea, _Professor_? What crime could _possibly_ be so terrible that a former student comes to turn himself in?" He set his cup and saucer on the table, leant forward, and yanked up the left sleeve of his black robes. He shoved his bared left forearm towards her, the familiar skull-and-serpent burning ebony against his sallow skin. 

Minerva looked, nodded curtly, and reached for her teacup to take a sip. 

Snape withdrew his arm and slumped back in his chair, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "I am a Death Eater," he said tonelessly. "Go tell the headmaster and have me taken to Azkaban. I'll wait here."

After setting her cup back down, Minerva looked curiously at him. "Why didn't you tell the headmaster yourself? If you were already here, you could've gone to his quarters as easily as mine."

Snape arched an eyebrow as if the answer should be obvious. "Because the headmaster would care. You…don't."

Minerva frowned, stung. "What do you mean, I don't care? You're a former student, how could I not?"

His mouth twisted again. "A former student, yes, but not a _Gryffindor_. It would be horribly disappointing if one of Hogwarts' golden children turned out to be a Death Eater. But a lowly, slimy, sneaky Slytherin? It's only to be _expected_." He spat the last word out as if it were poison and then withdrew into himself again, hugging his arms to his chest as though he feared he would shatter.

Minerva's heart wrenched painfully as she looked at him, heard him, but did not see him. Instead of the ugly, awkward young man before her, she saw and heard a handsome boy, equally dark of hair and eye. Forty years before he had sat with her on a rainy night by firelight.

"_Gryffindors have it so simple_,"_ he'd said. _"_Dippet favours you, Dumbledore favours you…Even the Ministry favours the Gryffindors! You get extra points, and any act of bravery, no matter how imbecilic, is rewarded. You're Hogwarts' golden house. Everyone wants to be in Gryffindor, but everyone hates Slytherin. The slimy ones are in Slytherin. The weak cowards. The sneaky ones no one else **wants**_."

She pulled herself back to the present with an effort and took a long, slow, calming sip of tea, relishing the biting heat of the whisky at the back of her throat. "Sna—Severus," she said at last, quietly. "I _do_ care. Very much."

He snorted—an impressive noise, coming from a nose that size. His voice was sharp, laced with disbelief. "Why? Because it's required for noble Gryffindors to take pity on the wretched?"

"Because…" Minerva took a deep breath and set down her cup, knowing the time for her penance had come. "Because I understand." She forced herself to lift her chin and look directly at him as she spoke.

Snape stared at her for a moment and then barked a mirthless laugh. "You…understand." A black brow quirked at her as he continued sarcastically. "Professor Minerva McGonagall, Gryffindor to the core, _understands_ one Severus Snape, lowly Slytherin and Death Eater." He laughed again and hunched further into himself. "Don't patronise me, Professor. How could _you_ possibly understand what it is to be a Slytherin, let alone a Death Eater?"

In answer, Minerva rolled up the left sleeve of her robe, baring her pale wrist and forearm. She then slowly extended her arm over the table, arching her wrist backward to best display the mark upon her skin.

Snape gasped, and one long hand snaked out and grasped her wrist as he leaned down for a closer inspection. Minerva winced at his chill touch, but bore his scrutiny in silence.

He looked up at last and raised an eyebrow, though disbelief and dawning comprehension warred for dominance in his eyes. "You have…a tattoo…of the Dark Mark." There was a note of questioning in his voice, though he clearly strove to quell it.

Minerva smiled blandly, feigning indifference. "What makes you say that?" She knew, of course. But then, she was a master at chess and knew also this game had to be spun out play by excruciating play.

"It's green." His black eyes searched her face desperately. "The Mark is black. It's always black. Except…"

"Except for the Dark Lord's own. Yes." Minerva gently withdrew her arm from his grasp and pulled it to her chest, cradling it beneath her breasts as she repeatedly ran the fingers of her right hand over the mark. 

"Tell me, Severus," she murmured after a moment, tracing the crest of the skull as the threads of silence stretched taught between them, "what do you know about the history of the Death Eaters?"

He took a drink of his tea before replying, the movement causing the cup to rattle loudly above the incessant patter of raindrops against the window. "He started gathering followers at school." Snape's answer was whispered, shaky. "His name was Tom Riddle, but to them, he was—" he cleared his throat, "—Lord Voldemort." 

Minerva looked up when no more information was forthcoming, and Snape shrugged a thin shoulder. "That's all I know, other than that he's been seducing—or coercing—people to his side, ever since." He raised an eyebrow. "I assume you know what his beliefs are, or would you like me to explain those, as well?"

Minerva shook her head, setting her hairnet waggling again. She tore her gaze from the verdant mark upon her arm in order to meet his eyes. 

"He was a boy named Tom _Marvolo_ Riddle. Re-arranged, the letters spell the words 'I am Lord Voldemort,'" she said quietly. "It started out as a joke, of sorts. He hated Muggles, hated his Muggle father—Tom Riddle—most of all. And he hated the Marvolos, his mother's side, almost as much for abandoning him. And so…" she shrugged. "He created a new name for himself."

Snape raised an eyebrow again, the corner of his mouth twisting in what might have been bitter amusement. "I should say he did."

Minerva continued as if she hadn't heard him. "He was a charming, handsome boy. Always tall for his age, and thin, with dark eyes and beautiful pianist's hands… Much like yours, as a matter of fact." 

Snape's hands balled into fists against his thighs at that. Unable to watch him any longer, Minerva turned and looked into the flame, conjuring _his_ face in the ephemeral play of light and shadow. "He was brilliant, too. One of the brightest and most powerful wizards ever to attend Hogwarts. He was Head Boy, you know."

She shifted and re-crossed her legs, never once taking her eyes from the memory of Tom's face. She turned quickly, however, when Snape spoke.

"Did you teach him?" His voice, for once, lacked its customary edge.

Minerva was tempted to laugh, but she gave him a stern look over the rim of her spectacles instead. "Precisely how old do you think I _am_, Snape?" She shook her head, not wanting to give him a chance to answer. "Would it mean anything to you if I told you I attended Hogwarts in the nineteen-forties?"

He stared. "You—Gods! You were at Hogwarts with him."

She smiled, feeling her lips shake at the corners. "In his year, in fact. Head Girl to his Head Boy."

Ignoring his sharp intake of breath, she continued in a whisper. "It was in his—our—fifth year, when he first started calling himself Lord Voldemort to his closest friends. His goal, as he put it then, was to ensure the Muggle and magical worlds would never interact with one another. We needed to be more secret, he said. Wizards and Muggles simply couldn't marry, because such relationships threatened the secrecy of the magical world and made us vulnerable. He said that, no matter how much anyone might wish it to be different, no magical person could ever be accepted in the Muggle world, and no Muggle-born could be truly accepted in the magical world. He said purity of blood was necessary."

Minerva realised she was clutching the Mark tightly and released her arm with an effort. "He made it seem logical. Right, even. As I said, he was persuasive. And so his friends agreed with him. Agreed, some time later, to form a society of like-minded individuals. At Tom's suggestion, they tattooed themselves one night in the Muggle way, but the ink was laced with spells, so that if any of them was in danger, the others' Marks would burn black and they could Apparate instantly to their companion's aid. They tattooed a skull, to remind themselves of the wizards and witches who would be killed if zealous Muggles found out about us, and a serpent in honour of Salazar Slytherin, who realised so very long ago the importance of secrecy and purity of blood." 

She stopped and drew a deep, shaking breath. "They tattooed themselves in green ink, to represent the goal of continued life and growth of the wizarding world. Five marked themselves; the original Death Eaters, though they had no such name, then. Tom Marvolo Riddle, called Lord Voldemort that night. Anastasia Lestrange, Frederick Ollivander, and Thomas Wilkes, Slytherins all."

"And Minerva McGonagall, Riddle's Gryffindor girlfriend." Snape's voice severed her reverie like a blade. Minerva nodded, not the least bit surprised. After all, Snape always had been too bright and perceptive for his own good.

"Anastasia married and died giving birth to her son Rodolphus, and Wilkes was killed by Aurors shortly after the fall of Grindelwald," she added. "That's why you've never seen a green Mark before."

"And Ollivander?"

Minerva frowned slightly. "He left the fold before it ever really _was_ a fold. Sometime seventh year, he lost interest in the cause—mostly because he fell in love with a Muggle-born Ravenclaw. Tom decided, since Frederick was heir to the only wand-making business in Britain, he couldn't very well kill him. And so he removed the spells on the Mark, nearly killed Frederick in the process, and let him go."

"But not you." There was a note of question in Snape's tone, tentative, as if he feared to move into the next stage of the game.

"No." Minerva started stroking the Mark again with a fingertip as she spoke. "We quarrelled near the end of our seventh year, when I realised his true goal was not secrecy, but total annihilation of the Muggle world as we know it. He would have them as slaves, research subjects, playthings for pure-blooded wizards. Muggle-born wizards, halfbloods, and Squibs would be treated hardly better." Her blunt fingernails dug deep into her wrist, and she continued with bitterest vehemence. "I had been blinded by his words. By his lies. By him. And so…our friendship ended."

She picked up her cup with surprising steadiness, sipped, and then cradled the cup in her hands as if the faint warmth of the porcelain could remedy the cold, cold betrayal within. Silence fell again as Minerva looked into the cup and saw memories swirling in the liquid like an amber-coloured pensieve. 

__

Tom's face, tilted up towards the sun, his teeth shining white in a smile. A black serpent lying between the tawny paws of an enormous lion. Tom's face again, flushed and wicked as he rested his cheek against her bare thigh. His midnight eyes sparkling with mirth from across the holly-strewn Great Hall as she went to him in robes of deepest green. The serpent rearing up to strike the lion, and Tom's bittersweet, brittle smile when she left his room for the last time…

A light, awkward touch upon Minerva's shoulder made her jump, causing the tea to slosh dangerously. She looked up, blinking away the foolish tears blurring her vision, to see Snape standing beside her. 

"You have more right than I," he said in a near-whisper.

Minerva made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "More right to curse myself for my youthful folly? Indeed I do."

He shook his head and folded his tall, gangly frame gingerly onto the davenport beside her. Minerva noted absently, and with some surprise, that his hand still rested tentatively on her shoulder.

Snape cleared his throat, apparently realising where his hand was, and hastily withdrew it. "More right to wear it." 

Minerva turned to him sharply, and he raised an eyebrow. "Not that wearing it is _good_. It's just…" he sighed, looking helpless. "I joined for the wrong reasons."

Minerva wanted to laugh, but she only choked back a sob again. "Oh, indeed, Snape," she said sarcastically, "becoming a Death Eater because one's boyfriend is the Dark Lord is splendid reason."

He shook his head again. "You loved him." It wasn't a question.

She opened her mouth to chastise him for his presumption, but she was too tired, too vulnerable, to protest. Let him take another step across the board. "How did you know?"

Snape looked surprised—perhaps he'd been expecting a denial. He recovered quickly, however, and raised an eyebrow again. "You may understand Slytherins, Professor, but you _aren't_ one. The characteristic subtlety escapes you—you've been caressing the Dark Mark like it's precious."

Minerva flushed, opened her mouth to deny it, and clasped her hands tighter around the teacup. Snape smirked. 

"Secondly, I've wondered for _years_ why you always dress in Slytherin green. It seemed an odd choice for the Head of Gryffindor. Now I know."

She briefly considered telling him the truth about that, but decided against it. After all, she _was_ still honouring a forty-year-old wager made with her onetime love. And honour alone wasn't making her keep her word, either. So Minerva simply shrugged, willing her voice not to shake and betray her. 

"Yes, I loved him. What of it?" It wasn't as if Tom had ever returned her love, after all.

Displaying an Albus-like sensitivity to her thoughts, Snape reached out and touched her shoulder again. "He must have loved you, too. He let you live." He took his hand back quickly and then shrugged. "Love is a better reason to join the Death Eaters than joining a cause you don't believe in because you're angry." 

Minerva nodded, neither trusting her voice nor knowing what to say. She took a long sip of tea to compose herself and then looked at him over her spectacles. "How is it you're still alive, Snape?"

A blush climbed his sallow, bruised cheeks as he clasped his hands in his lap. "He doesn't know I'm gone. Yet. …And I can draw my wand faster than Bellatrix Lestrange."

Lestrange. Albus had said earlier tonight, when he'd told her about the Boneses, that the Lestranges were the primary suspects. And, she realised with a jolt that sloshed her tea again, Snape. 

He had hunched into himself again and sat perfectly still, hugging his arms to his chest and watching her warily. Minerva set her teacup on the table and turned to face him. "Tell me about it," she said softly, in the same tone she had once used as Prefect and Head Girl, sitting on first-years' beds and comforting them after nightmares.

Snape swallowed audibly. "No." 

Minerva simply raised an eyebrow, and the words began to tumble from his lips.

"Tonight. It was just another mission. I've been a Death Eater for three years, now, and I didn't expect anything but the norm. We were summoned at half-past nine." Snape spoke haltingly, staring into his lap as if the black fabric of his robes held answers to unasked questions.

"The Dark Lord told us what we were to do. He never tells us about the missions in advance; only the Inner Cadre. Of which I am not a member. I've participated in countless Muggle killings. I've brewed poisons and potions for him. I've tortured and raped and beaten Muggles." His breath hitched. "I'm sorry."

Minerva sat woodenly, her fingernails digging into her wrist again. This felt like a confession, but oh, God, she was not a priest. She couldn't offer benediction or blessing or forgiveness. She could only listen. 

"Go on," she said tonelessly.

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Tonight we were to kill Justinius and Claudia Bones. They are—were—senior Aurors, and they had found some evidence against several important Death Eaters. It—it was my first time on a mission against other wizards." He drew a deep, shuddering breath and started rocking back and forth as he sat. 

"Wilkes and Karkaroff had captured them this afternoon and brought them to a field tonight. I don't know where it was; the Dark Lord was there and had summoned the rest of us. He wanted to—to watch them suffer, first. Everyone cast the Cruciatus on them. In turn and together." Snape sighed. "I did, too. I cast an Unforgivable on Justinius Bones. He was friends with my father. I saw his face contorting in agony, and I still cast it."

"And then…" He closed his eyes and started shaking violently. "He—the Dark Lord—made us stop. He said he had a special punishment for Aurors. He pulled a black snake out of his robes. He called her Nagini. Some Death Eaters revived Mrs Bones and tied her with her wrists above her head. Two others tore her robes off and yanked her legs apart. And…" 

Snape gagged, weeping now, still rocking as though the motion could comfort him. "…And the Dark Lord hissed at Nagini. He spoke to her, and I knew what he wanted her to do. I don't know how—I'm not a Parselmouth—but I _knew_. I wanted to run, but I couldn't. He had asked me to revive Justinius and hold him up so he could watch. And I did. I _had_ to. And Nagini slithered in the dirt up to Mrs Bones and—oh, _Gods_—up her leg like it was a tree branch, and she was screaming and crying, and Justinius was screaming and fighting and begging us to kill her first, and Nagini went…inside…" he broke off and buried his face in his hands, sobbing in loud, ugly gasps.

Minerva sat utterly still throughout his speech, barely aware of the blood that trickled from the deep half-moon gouges in her wrist. She looked at the thin, dark man before her and saw instead a beautiful brunette girl being sorted into Ravenclaw, over forty years ago—Claudia Ackerley, only three years younger than Minerva herself. She had known Justinius, as well. He had been a year older than she, a Hufflepuff, and had received more NEWTs than anyone else in his year. 

Until today, the Bones family had been a model wizarding family. Thirty years ago, Claudia and Justinius could often be seen taking their small son Edgar and his older sister, Amelia, for walks in Diagon Alley, treating them to ice cream at Florean's. More recently, until today, they could often be seen taking those same walks with Edgar, his wife, and their baby granddaughter. That wee lassie would never know her grandparents, Minerva realised.

She turned to Snape, who had quieted a bit but still sobbed into his hands. "What happened next?" she asked quietly, wanting to comfort him and curse him all at once.

He looked up as if surprised to see her still there. His nose was running, and tears shone wetly on his bruised and battered face. 

"I--" he sniffled loudly, took a deep shuddering breath, and looked down at his lap again. "Nagini…must have been enchanted," he continued, still shivering but making a visible effort to calm himself. "I think. She travelled up Mrs Bones' body on the inside. I could see her sometimes, under the skin. Mrs Bones kept screaming and contorting, and Justinius kept screaming—he knocked his head back against my face several times. Finally…" 

Snape gagged, but took a sip of tea, closed his eyes, and went on. "I could see something undulating under the skin of Mrs Bones' neck. She had stopped screaming by then and was jerking and moaning as if she were about to die. And—and then her mouth opened, and Nagini slithered out, covered in blood and fluids…" Snape gagged again, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. 

"The Dark Lord left before she died. He said we were to wait for her to die, kill Justinius, play with them as we liked, and then incinerate the bodies. He took Nagini and the Inner Cadre with him and left only a few of us to do the job. As soon as he'd gone, I looked at Mrs Bones. I was still holding Justinius, and knew I had to leave. I couldn't stay. And so I let go of him, shoved him away. Bellatrix Lestrange saw me, but I cast _Obliviate_ on her. I Apparated to Hogsmeade. I think I lost consciousness, because after I Apparated, I found myself lying on the ground, soaking wet. It hadn't been raining when I left the field."

Minerva nodded. "Why did you come?"

Snape turned to her and shrugged helplessly, looking very young. His lips shook with suppressed tears as he spoke. "It's too late for me. I can't change what I did. I was wrong, and I wanted to confess before I turned myself in to the Ministry."

Again, Minerva looked past him into the fire. And again, she did not see Snape. This time, she saw a young woman with her black hair pulled back tightly, shaking with fear and guilt. The girl's face was buried in the crimson feathers of a phoenix as she sobbed a confession to her Head of House, who sat beside her, sucking a toffee and stroking his long auburn beard.

Minerva straightened and looked at Snape over her spectacles, wishing she had Albus' gift for radiating kindness and compassion. She did not and knew it, so echoing his words was the best she could do. 

"Severus," she said quietly, allowing the almost-forgotten burr of her accent to seep back into her voice, gentling it. "I know you aren't evil at heart. And you're right, you can't change what you did. But…would you like a chance to redeem yourself?"

The quick flash of hope in his eyes almost broke her heart, but then he scowled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What could I do?" he asked warily. 

"I'm afraid that's for the headmaster to decide." 

She already had an idea, of course. The Dark Lord truly might not know Snape was gone, yet. Even if he did, Snape said he had cast _Obliviate_ on Mrs Lestrange. Perhaps no one else had seen what had happened. If so, Snape could go back into the fold as a spy. Lord knew the Light was in desperate need of them! But, of course, Albus would know what was best.

Snape swallowed audibly. "Very well," he whispered, looking as if Minerva had just informed him she would be personally escorting him to Azkaban.

Minerva reached over and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of tenderness. "He _will_ be disappointed, laddie," she said quietly, "but he'll forgive you."

"I know," Snape whispered, nodding. He reached up tentatively and squeezed her hand. "But…I'm scared."

Her heart constricted painfully at that. He was only twenty, twenty-one at most. So very, very young. 

Given that, Minerva was most surprised to find herself moving forward and pressing her lips against his. Perhaps it was the whisky, the late—or very early—hour, or an effect of the shock. Maybe a combination of the three. Regardless, it was incredibly wrong. But…when his cold lips parted beneath hers, Minerva kissed him long and hard, willing some of her golden Gryffindor warmth and courage to flow into him. 

Snape kissed back hungrily, wrapping his arms around her and clinging tightly, as if desperate and adrift. 

They pulled back, breathless, after a moment that seemed to last an hour. Minerva smiled shakily, feeling herself blushing. 

"For luck," she whispered.

Snape smiled back, the first warm, genuine smile she'd seen on him since he was a child. "Thank you."

Minerva smiled again and stood, resigning herself to the fact that she would be teaching her classes today on only a few hours of sleep. She turned to Snape and arched an eyebrow again as he rose. "If you're prepared?"

He nodded wordlessly, and together they walked to the headmaster's office. 

Minerva smiled softly, sneaking a glance at him as they rode together on the spiralling staircase. 

He would heal.


	2. Chapter Two

****

Disclaimer: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, and all related characters, ideas, and materials belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.

****

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! I hope this one is to your liking as well. If it is--or even if it's not--feedback is always welcome.

****

The Emerald Mark

****

Chapter Two

* * *

Minerva had scarcely touched her hand to the brass knocker when the headmaster's office door opened.

"Good evening Professor McGonagall, Severus," said Albus, who was indeed wearing his oldest grey woollen nightshirt, though not the violet cloak Minerva had seen in her dream. "Won't you come in?"

"Good evening, Headmaster," Minerva replied. Severus said nothing, but he looked as though he were going to be sick. Minerva stepped inside at once, grabbing Snape's elbow and tugging him along when he half-turned, as if he were considering fleeing back down the stairs. Albus appeared to notice neither Snape's appearance nor his attempted escape; he merely gestured towards the large, squishy red armchairs and matching davenport clustered about the hearth.

"Please, sit. Would you care for some tea? Coffee? Or perhaps cocoa? I was about to have a cup of cocoa, myself."

What with the three glasses of Ogden's and the tea (with more Ogden's), Minerva had quite had her fill of drinkables for the evening. Nevertheless, she smiled at Albus as she sat on the davenport, pulling Snape along with her in case he decided to run again. "Cocoa sounds lovely, thank you."

The headmaster beamed as he took a seat in one of the armchairs. "Very good! And Severus?"

Snape turned an even more alarming green, and he swallowed audibly before mumbling, "Nothing. ...Sir."

"Don't be ridiculous, Snape!" hissed Minerva. "It will settle your stomach."

Snape sighed softly, but he managed a grimace that might've been a half-hearted smile at the headmaster. "Cocoa would be fine, sir."

"Ah, excellent." Albus waved his wand, and three china cups and saucers appeared on the coffee table. Aromatic steam wafted from the cups, and Minerva found herself suddenly very glad she'd taken the headmaster up on his offer. She was even more grateful when she picked up her cup and took a sip--it was marvellous.

Albus drank, wiped a bit of chocolate off his otherwise spotless white moustaches, and beamed over at them. "Oh, that's lovely. Just what I wanted. Now, what can I do for you?"

Snape went a truly disgusting shade of greenish-white as he simply stared mutely into his cup, so Minerva cleared her throat and spoke. "I believe Mr Snape would like a word with you. About a matter of rather grave importance."

"I see." Albus nodded, drank again, and turned to Snape. "What is it, Severus?" he asked gently.

"I was...rather, I am a...I..." Snape clamped his lips shut, obviously at a loss for words, and set his cup down with hands that shook again. His face was stark white beneath the bruises, now, and tears glistened in his eyes. 

He cleared his throat and rolled up his left sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark to the headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore, I was a Death Eater," Snape whispered hoarsely. "I've come to surrender myself."

Albus set his cup and saucer down as well before reaching over and taking Snape's pale wrist between his two veined and wrinkled hands. "Oh, my dear child," murmured Albus, tears glistening on his cheeks. "My dear boy. Thank you."

Snape's jaw dropped. "You're thanking me for being a Death Eater?"

"No, for ceasing to be one. I'm thanking you for coming back."

"Coming back?" Snape's eyes widened, and he gaped even more unattractively than before. "You--you aren't going to send me to Azkaban?"

Minerva sighed as she rubbed the tears from her own eyes. "Of course not," she said tartly, replacing her spectacles. "I told you as much."

"Yes, but--"

Albus smiled. "Severus, Professor McGonagall is correct. I wouldn't dream of sending you to Azkaban. ...Not that I could, even if I wanted to. The Ministry possesses the unhappy power of sentencing people to Azkaban, not I. That said, of course, I won't be turning you in."

Snape shook his head, withdrawing his wrist from the headmaster's grasp in order to cross both arms in front of his chest. He raised an eyebrow. "But why? I've told you I was a Death Eater. I even have the Mark to prove it. Why _wouldn't_ you turn me in?"

"Because you are a Death Eater no longer. You said so yourself." Albus picked up his cup, sat back, and drank cocoa contentedly.

"I said so, yes, but wouldn't you like me to take Veritaserum? You have no reason to trust me!"

"I have your word, and that is enough."

"But _why_?" Snape seemed lost; his eyes darted back and forth between Albus and Minerva, as if seeking some sort of trap.

Minerva exhaled sharply through her nose, impatient. "_Are_ you a Death Eater?"

"No. Not anymore, but--"

Albus lifted a hand from his cup, stilling him. "No buts, Severus. I trust you."

Snape ran a hand through his hair, still obviously ruffled. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound emerged.

"Welcome home, laddie," Minerva murmured, squeezing his shoulder.

She was rewarded with his second smile of the evening, though this one trembled as his tears spilt over at last. "Thank you."

After a moment, Albus turned to Snape, peering over his half-moon spectacles at the boy. "Severus, I must tell you something," he began, setting his cocoa aside again in order to steeple his fingers together. "My pleasure at your returning to us is twofold. Of course, I am overjoyed that you have decided to cease being on the side of evil. However, there is another reason entirely. A...rather Slytherin reason, I daresay."

Snape took a hasty sip of his drink and swallowed audibly, a look of apprehension creeping over his features. "Indeed?"

Albus nodded, causing his beard to waggle upon his chest. "As you are well aware, of course, we are at war. In times of war, it is most useful to know what the other side is planning. And the most effective means of getting such information is to hear it from the enemy himself..."

"You want me to be a double agent." Snape's tone was flat. "To go back to him."

"It would be a great help to our cause, yes."

"The Dark Lord will have me killed!"

Albus nodded again, and Minerva noticed his fingertips were shaking, ever so slightly, despite his obvious attempt to maintain a calm façade. She knew how much it cost him to ask a student--_any_ student--to risk so very much.

"I'm afraid that is a possibility, my boy," said the headmaster at last. "But I can assure you I will do everything in my power to prevent it."

Snape opened his mouth again, probably to protest, but Minerva forestalled him.

"You _said_ you wanted a chance to redeem yourself, Snape." She arched an eyebrow. "Surely your life is worth no more than those of the Muggles you killed and tortured? And is the chance of saving countless lives not worth the risk to your own?"

Snape's long, pale hands tightened around his cup, and his face turned greenish-white again, in stark and hideous contrast to the livid purple bruising. He swallowed audibly. "I'll do it."

Albus smiled, but Minerva looked at Snape sceptically over her spectacles. "Will you? Or will you go back to him at the first opportunity, confess all, and beg for mercy?"

"_Minerva_!" Albus' shouted admonishment was punctuated by the sound of Snape's cup shattering when he flung it against the nearest wall.

"I _will not_ go back to him!" Snape's black eyes shone with anger and pain as he glared at her. "I may not possess your vaulted Gryffindor courage, and no, I'm not exactly overjoyed at the prospect of risking my life as a spy. I'm a Slytherin--we look after our own skins!" 

Cocoa dripped slowly down the wall, and the portrait of Armando Dippet sighed loudly as pale brown streaks trickled over his canvas. 

Snape sighed and clenched his fists in his lap before continuing, more quietly. "That said, do you honestly think I'd be so imbecilic as to come here, confess I was a Death Eater, and then go running back to the Dark Lord the second I was asked to do something distasteful? I may not be particularly brave, but I'm not stupid." He sighed again and then stared down at his robes sullenly, lank black hair falling forward to obscure his features. "And I thought you trusted me," he added in a near-whisper.

Minerva's heart wrenched in her chest as she looked at him. "Oh, laddie, we do," she murmured, feeling wretched. "But you're going to have to convince more than just the two of us, eventually. I had hoped to prepare you. You'll hear worse than that, I'm afraid."

Snape looked at her, stricken. "You...you didn't mean it?"

She shook her head and reached up, almost unthinkingly, to brush a limp lock of hair from his forehead.

"Dear me," said Albus, sounding somewhere between amused and disappointed, "then all that lovely cocoa was wasted for naught."

Snape's face went completely blank for a moment before he buried his head in his hands and began to laugh--or sob--hysterically.

Minerva frowned, concerned, but Albus simply banished the spilt cocoa and shards of china with a wave of his wand. He then turned to Snape and set a gentle hand on the boy's still-shaking shoulders. "Time for bed, I think. You've been through far too much tonight."

Snape's suddenly went still, and he looked up at the headmaster incredulously. "Bed? Won't I need to report back to the Dark Lord?"

Minerva looked over at Albus curiously, wondering the same thing.

"Not immediately," he replied. "You need rest more than anything--I daresay we all do. We can make plans later."

"But--" Snape looked dumbfounded, as though the headmaster's kindness was beyond his comprehension.

Albus raised a hand for silence once more. "Trust me, Severus."

"I do."

"Good!" Albus nodded, satisfied. "Now, I would offer you a bed in the hospital wing, but unfortunately, your presence here at Hogwarts must remain a secret for the time being. I assume you know the way to Professor McGonagall's apartments?"

"Yes..." Snape replied warily.

Minerva raised an eyebrow at Albus, wondering if his cocoa had been laced with some sort of alcohol.

"I find myself in need of a word with Professor McGonagall," continued Albus. He turned to her. "If you'd be willing, of course." 

She nodded her assent.

"Then Severus, why don't you go ahead to her apartments; I'm sure she won't mind if you sleep in her parlour."

Snape rose and looked at Minerva questioningly, and she nodded again, though the idea of having a former student sleep in her private apartments was disconcerting, to say the least. "Tea things are in the kitchen, and the lavatory is next to the bedroom. You may sleep on the davenport."

"Thank you," Snape said quietly, his words obviously addressed to both of them.

"No thanks are necessary," replied Albus as he stood. He patted Snape on the shoulder and then escorted him to the door. "Sleep well."

The door had scarcely closed behind Snape when Minerva gave the headmaster a severe look. "What are you playing at, Albus, having him sleep in my apartments? Surely there is _somewhere_ else we could've put him?"

He chuckled as he took the now-vacant seat beside Minerva. "There are other places, yes...but I thought this would be the most suitable arrangement."

She stared. "_Why_?"

"Because he has need of you, Minerva." Albus smiled softly and reached up to tuck an errant curl behind her ear.

Blushing, she took a deep breath and turned to face him. "I kissed him, earlier."

Any other man would have reacted with jealousy or anger. Not Albus Dumbledore. He merely nodded, setting his beard to waggling again. "I thought as much, from the way he looked at you. Why?"

Minerva laid her head on his shoulder and inhaled, breathing in the familiar and intensely comforting scent of chocolate, lemon drops, and old books that always hung about him. "I don't know," she said at last, frowning. "It seemed the thing to do, at the time. Perhaps because of too much whisky." 

He chuckled again. "As good a reason as any."

Her frown deepened as she tilted her head to look at him. "You're not upset?"

Albus bent to press his lips briefly to her forehead. "Of course not, Kitten." He smiled mischievously. "He is, after all, of a much more suitable age than I."

She glared. "That isn't funny. Besides, I didn't say I loved Snape. I just kissed him."

"I know." He began stroking her hair gently, and Minerva was strongly tempted to arch her back and purr. She didn't, however, and contented herself with putting an arm over his chest and nestling close.

After a moment, Albus spoke again. "I think you ought to try."

Minerva arched a brow in confusion. "Try what?"

"To love Severus."

Gasping, she moved away and looked at him in astonishment. "But I love _you_!"

To her surprise and extreme vexation, he laughed aloud and pulled her to him. "Oh, Kitten, I love you, too. But love is a strange thing; it is inexhaustible. And there are dozens upon dozens of different kinds." 

He lifted a wrinkled hand to her cheek and traced the line of her jaw and the curves of her lips with his thumb. "I'm not suggesting you love Severus the same way you love me. To do so would be quite foolish, as I know you would never do such a thing. And, I must confess, I would be devastated if you _did_."

Minerva smiled. "You know I couldn't."

"Indeed." His pale blue eyes sparkled with emotion behind glass lenses. "But I believe Severus needs you."

Her brows knit. "What, exactly, do you think Snape needs?"

"A mother. A lover. A woman." Albus smiled warmly. "Every man needs one, you know. Well, some men," he clarified hastily. "Some, of course, need another man. ...And a select few find themselves in need of a goat. But everyone needs someone."

Sometimes it was best just to trust Albus without asking too many questions, Minerva thought with a sigh. "Very well." She raised an eyebrow. "But what about you?"

He smiled yet again. "Well, if you're going to be mother to him, that makes me his father, now doesn't it?"

"And if I'm his lover, instead?"

Albus shrugged slightly. "He needs to be loved, Minerva. It is the greatest power--and the greatest healer--we fragile humans possess."

"I see," she murmured, though the words were cut off when he bent his head and captured her lips with his own.

"Good luck, and good night," he said quietly as she rose a moment later and headed for the door. 

Minerva turned and smiled at her husband over her shoulder. "Good night."

She walked quickly--if a bit unsteadily--back to her apartments. The sky was beginning to lighten, she noted with a wince as she passed a window. So much for sleep, then. Her first class, fifth-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, commenced at nine o'clock, and it had to be nearing five now. She opened the heavy wooden door carefully, for fear of waking Snape, but saw upon entering she needn't have worried. He was sitting on her davenport, fully clothed and apparently wide awake, staring into the near-dead embers of her fire.

Minerva closed the door less quietly than she'd opened it, and Snape jumped. He turned toward her and shrugged a bony shoulder. "I couldn't sleep."

She crossed the room and perched beside him. "Did you try?"

He looked back at the hearth. "No," he muttered sullenly.

"Well, then how did you know you couldn't?" she asked, reaching up to stroke his hair in what she hoped was a sufficiently motherly manner.

Snape flinched and then turned, glaring. "Don't do that."

She withdrew her hand at once.

He sighed. "I always give myself the Draught of Living Death before bed. I've been doing that for two years, and I highly doubt I could sleep without its aid, now."

"Would you like to try?"

"I'd like to _sleep_."

Minerva smiled as she stood. "Come along, then, laddie."

He eyed her warily. "Where?"

"Bed," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"With you?" Snape sounded scandalised.

Minerva frowned, mentally cursing Albus for giving her this task. Did Snape need a woman, or not? He certainly seemed unresponsive to her efforts. 

"Yes, with me."

He opened his mouth as if to protest but then nodded and stood, looking resigned. "It was the Dark Lord's prerogative," he muttered. "Why would it be any different with you?"

"Oh, my goodness, no, Snape!" she gasped. Her heart froze in her chest as she realised what he must have thought. "I would never do such a thing!"

He raised an eyebrow, disbelief writ plainly upon his face. "Then what, pray tell, _did_ you mean?"

"Only that I've had many years of experience keeping nightmares at bay," Minerva answered softly, squeezing his shoulder. To her surprise, he didn't flinch this time, but instead looked up at her with an unreadable expression. 

"I suppose you have, at that." Snape rose, sighing. "I won't sleep."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped for the second time, leading the way to the bedroom. "You can't know for certain until you try."

He snorted loudly but followed, nevertheless. His footsteps ceased, however, when they entered her bedchamber. Minerva turned to see him staring at the bed with an expression of mingled horror and amusement. She frowned. The tartan curtains, canopy, and coverlet were admittedly a bit overwhelming, but certainly they were no laughing matter!

"Don't say a word, Snape," she cautioned.

He made a rather strangled sound but thankfully did not comment as he went to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge to remove his boots. Minerva followed, pausing only to step out of her slippers before she climbed into bed. She was still arranging the bedclothes about her when he spoke.

"Should I sleep atop the coverlet?"

"Not unless you enjoy being cold."

He shook his head and joined her beneath the blankets. Minerva slid over a bit to give him more room and then removed her spectacles and set them on the bedside table. Snape inhaled sharply, and she turned her head on the pillow, perplexed. 

"Is something amiss?"

Even though Snape looked slightly blurry, Minerva saw his face turn red as he muttered very quickly, "Yoofbeuflieswowfspeckles."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

He went purple, clashing horribly with the crimson of the tartan bedclothes. "You have beautiful eyes, without your spectacles," Snape said softly. He cleared his throat. "I'd never noticed."

Minerva smiled, touched. She was suddenly reminded, yet again, of how very young he was. "I don't suppose you would have. But...thank you."

Something within her softened, then, and on impulse, she rolled onto her side and laid her arm lightly over his chest. He stiffened. 

"What are you doing?"

She smiled again. "Holding you."

"Why?"

"Because you need it."

Snape sighed. "I do not. Please let go."

Minerva arched an eyebrow. "Do you want to sleep?"

"Yes, but--"

She shook her head slightly and tried to pull him closer. "Then kindly hush, laddie, and come here."

"Fine!" he snapped, rolling onto his side so that he was a hairsbreadth away from her. "Is this better, Professor?" his voice dripped sarcasm.

An amused smile tugged at Minerva's lips once again as she replied. "Almost." 

She curled her arm around his back and moved his head so it was nestled in the hollow between her shoulder and her bosom. Snape remained stiff and unresponsive but allowed it, nevertheless. Once he was arranged to her liking, she began gently to rub his back. 

After a long moment, he exhaled, and she felt his muscles begin to relax beneath her touch. "Thank you," he whispered.

She kissed the top of his head and then nodded, resting her cheek against his hair. "Think nothing of it, child."

Snape only yawned in reply. Encouraged, Minerva continued stroking his shoulders, touching him softly and murmuring words of comfort, as though he were a small and frightened child and she the mother she hadn't known until now she wanted to be.

He yawned again a short while later, and she knew it would only be a matter of time before sleep claimed him, Draught of Living Death or no.

She knew also that sleep was completely out of the question for her, regardless of her exhaustion. For as she touched him in the chill half-light of dawn, the grey shadows blurred his face into a pale copy of another, leaving unaltered only the black of his hair and one long and slender white hand resting on the tartan coverlet.

And so Minerva remained awake, stroking his soft, black hair and holding his name on her tongue, as silver light, the colour of a pensieve, slowly filled the room.


	3. Chapter Three

****

Disclaimer: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, and all related characters, ideas, and materials belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.

****

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed previous chapters! I hope this one is to your liking as well. If it is--or if it's not--feedback is always welcome.

****

The Emerald Mark

Chapter Three

* * *

"Are you all right, Minerva?" Filius Flitwick sounded concerned. "You look exhausted."

Minerva turned from the staffroom counter, a cup of hot, black, and very strong coffee in hand. She smiled wanly, feeling utterly wretched. She _was_ exhausted, and conscious of the effects of last night's whisky, as well.

"I'm fine, thank you. Just a bit tired. The storm kept me awake last night."

"I see," he murmured, looking up at her worriedly. "Well, thank goodness it's Friday, I suppose. And you have only one more class this afternoon, don't you?"

Minerva crossed to one of the room's several chairs, sat, and then took a drink of her coffee, willing the hot beverage to wash away some of the fog blanketing her brain. "Yes. Just the seventh-year Gryffindors." She smiled again. "And then _sleep_."

Filius chuckled as he levitated the pot of tea--located on the counter, out of his reach--and caused it to pour into a waiting teacup. He lowered his wand, settling the pot back onto its magical warmer, and then gently floated the cup down into his free hand. "Well, I wish you a relaxing week-end," he replied before taking a sip. His homely face lit up. "Mmm! Oolong. My favourite."

It was only after he'd left the room that Minerva allowed her shoulders to sag. She sank back into the chair and briefly considered a short nap. After all, she had fifteen minutes before her next class began. Plenty of time for a rest, and it would give the coffee time to work...

She had scarcely closed her eyes when the staffroom door opened again. Minerva stiffened, poised to sit up and pretend she was wide-awake, when the newcomer spoke.

"Long night, my dear?"

She smiled, not bothering to open her eyes. "Of course. You weren't there," she replied fondly.

Albus chuckled, and his whiskers tickled against her forehead as he planted a quick kiss. Minerva opened her eyes, only to see him regarding her with a more serious expression than she'd anticipated. She sat up hastily.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no. I was just going to inquire about our young charge."

Minerva nodded, relieved. "He's still in my apartments. I told him to rest, but when I checked in at lunch, he was poring over my latest issue of _Transfiguration Today_."

"An excellent choice." Albus was obviously amused.

"Well, he _ought_ to have been sleeping," Minerva retorted, cross. "I certainly would be, if I could."

Albus smiled behind his beard as he reached up to stroke her hair. "I gather you didn't get your catnap today, Kitten?"

"No." She glared and swatted his hand away. 

Albus nodded, gentle mock-consternation written on his face. "Poor kitty."

Minerva smiled in spite of herself. "Off with you," she said, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. "I've a class to teach, and you're distracting me from my preparation."

He bent again to kiss her cheek. "All right. But before I go... I came here to ask if you would please bring our young black sheep down to the interrogation room at seven o'clock."

She nodded, feeling both curious and confused. "Of course. But why?"

Albus straightened, suddenly looking grave. "I'll wait and tell you both at once."

"All right." Her curiosity was definitely piqued, but Minerva found she was too tired to protest.

"Until tonight, then," he said, departing in a sweep of violet robes.

As the door closed softly behind Albus, Minerva checked her watch and was dismayed to see that her class was to commence in four minutes. "Damn it," she murmured before gulping the rest of her coffee. Rest would just have to wait.

Afterwards, Minerva was amazed she'd made it through the lesson without doing serious bodily harm to any students. As it was Friday, and the students were a particularly rowdy bunch of Gryffindors, perhaps it _had_ been foolish to suggest they each transfigure all the desks in the classroom into barnyard animals. Perhaps it had been particularly stupid not to specify that the animals should be small, like chickens, goats, and piglets. But still. Had she not the right to expect a _bit_ of common sense from her own House? Minerva smoothed her hair before opening the door to her apartments. At least she'd had her Head Boy, William Weasley, to help transfigure the herd of Thoroughbreds back into desks before they'd stampeded down the corridor.

Snape looked up when she entered. He was sitting in an armchair with one of her favourite chess sets--the beautifully carved wooden one Alastor had made for her-- on the coffee table in front of him. Minerva saw at a glance that black was trouncing white.

"You play?" she inquired, coming closer to better study the board.

He raised an eloquent eyebrow. "Obviously."

Minerva sighed, took a seat on the davenport, and rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease knotted muscles. "No, I mean: do you play often, or were you merely bored?"

He shot a glare at the board but then turned to her, wearing a small smile. "I play often. Or I used to. Though I'm not as much of a fanatic as you apparently are."

Minerva laughed. "A fanatic?"

"I counted fourteen chess sets in your cupboard. What would _you_ call it?"

"Well-prepared."

"I see."

She smiled mischievously. "What would you say if I told you that I actually own seventy-two?"

He gaped. "You're joking."

"Why would I?" She shook her head. "I collect them. I have for many years, and many people know it. I've received at least one set every Christmas since I was twelve. The fourteen in the cupboard are simply my favourites."

Snape nodded. "And the others?"

Minerva shrugged. "Many of them are plain. Those are primarily from students and acquaintances. Some have themes; I've a lovely 'King Arthur and his court' set, as well as 'Alice in Wonderland,' but I prefer not to play those. The pieces aren't standard, you know. And several sets are very fine antiques. I don't play those, either."

He nodded again, looking interested. "What about the fourteen?"

She smiled, her exhaustion fading rapidly as she discussed one of her favourite subjects. "Those are the most special."

"Why, if you don't mind my asking?"

For a moment, she considered telling him. She could've told him that the set made of rosy coral and gold had been a gift from Albus, the night he proposed. That the white and black marble one had been her father's, and they'd played together just a week before he had died. The particularly gorgeous set in lavender and green had been a gift from Heloise Sprout; it was made from dozens of crushed Scotch thistles--leaves and flowers--magically set in glass. The wooden set Snape was playing had been carved by Alastor out of bits of Minerva's old Beater's clubs.

Minerva shook her head slightly, unwilling, for some reason, to share such personal details. "They were mostly gifts from the people I love most." She swallowed hard, thinking of one set in particular, before adding quietly, "Or loved." 

Snape's eyebrows rose. "You mean...?"

She nodded. "I'm sure you saw it, if you looked in the cupboard. It's made of jade and silver."

"I did."

She smiled softly. "He made it himself. Gave me the board and the jade queen at Christmas, and then one piece every day for a month thereafter." Her smile deepened. "It was only later that I found he'd been nicking a saltcellar a day at breakfast to transfigure the pieces." He'd finished with the silver king, but Snape didn't need to know that.

Snape chuckled but then sobered quickly. "Why do you keep it?"

Minerva met his searching gaze across the board, feeling as though her queen had just been crushed by a pawn's unexpected move. She looked down quickly, as her exhaustion returned to weigh upon her thin shoulders once again. "Because..." She sighed. "Because it's less difficult for me if I believe that I loved a boy named Tom Riddle, a _good_ boy, who died long ago."

When she dared look up again, she found Snape nodding. "I understand. It's simpler for me to believe that the man I served is wholly evil, that he was never the boy you knew." He sighed. "It makes betrayal easier."

Minerva smiled sadly. "It's never truly easy, is it?"

Rather than answering, Snape picked up the black king and rolled it slowly between his palms. "I..." He looked at her with desperation. "Professor?"

She frowned, mildly alarmed at his abrupt change of mood. "Yes?"

"There's something I must confess. Before we--before last night--" a blush warmed his sallow cheeks as he stumbled, "he was the only person with whom I'd ever shared a bed."

Minerva swallowed a gasp, knowing that the Dark Lord had done far more than _slept_ with Snape. "Oh, laddie."

Snape bowed his head, holding the black king prisoner in a clenched fist. His hair fell forward to hide his face, and he looked about fourteen. "What I mean to say is, in a small and horrible way, I loved him, too."

Something knifed painfully in Minerva's heart, but she was unsure whether it was pity or jealousy. Regardless, she was at a loss. She was therefore very thankful when the clock chimed seven.

"Heavens!" she exclaimed. "We're supposed to meet with Albus!"

Snape stiffened visibly, and he raised a pale, entirely unprepared face. "_Now_?"

She nodded, pitying herself as well as him. Last night had been wretched, today exhausting, and the good Lord only knew what Albus had planned. "I'm sorry, Sn--Severus. He mentioned it earlier, but I'd completely forgotten, until now." Minerva's brows knit as something occurred to her. "Have you eaten today? Are you hungry? I could find something for you, if you'd like."

Snape shook his head. "No, thank you."

She stood and looked sharply over her spectacles at his angular form. "You look as though a few good meals wouldn't go amiss, lad."

He gave her a twisted smile as he rose. "First you criticise my sleeping patterns, and now my eating habits. Next will you remind me to wear my wellies when I go out?"

She laughed, startled that he'd dared tease her. "Wait until the next time it rains, and you'll see."

Snape surprised her again a moment later by opening the door for her on their way out. He beckoned her through with a polite--if awkward--nod, and Minerva caught another glimpse of the youth he might've been, had bitterness not caused him to shut himself away from the world.

Minerva quickly led the way to the interrogation room, located in the deepest dungeons. She purposefully chose back stairways and unused corridors and was relieved when they didn't meet anyone.

Albus was waiting when they arrived. And as soon as the door had closed behind them, Snape looked about. "What is this place?" he asked, sounding apprehensive.

He might well have been worried, for the room looked precisely like what it was: a prison cell. The walls were rough stone, unadorned save for a few torches. A chamber pot, a wooden chair, and a rude bed were the only furnishings.

"This is the interrogation room," said Albus quietly, from the chair. "It is where we hold Dark witches and wizards we apprehend, until one of two things happens."

"And those things are?"

"One is that they agree to join our side, and we have assured ourselves that they are not lying. And the other... We learn all we can from them, and then release them to the Ministry."

Snape frowned. "But--"

"Honestly, laddie!" interjected Minerva, exasperated. "Did you think we simply offered them tea and biscuits and gave them a slap on the wrist? We're at war!"

His frown deepened. "No, I meant... Why not release them to the Ministry at once? Isn't it the Aurors' duty to question them?"

Minerva shot a quick glance at Albus, wondering how much he meant to tell the boy. But Albus simply gave Snape the blank, serene smile that meant he chose not to hear part of the question. "Why, yes. So it is."

Her lips twitched when she saw Snape scowl. "Fine," Snape said, sounding surly. "Do you mean to keep me here, then, until you've ascertained that I am, in fact, on your side?"

"Oh, no, my boy." Albus smiled gently. "We're already quite convinced."

"Then why...?"

Minerva raised an eyebrow at Albus as she perched on the foot of the bed, wondering precisely the same thing.

"This particular room has the benefits of being both little known and heavily warded," replied the headmaster, looking grave. "Given what I've planned, interruptions would be most unwelcome."

Snape, still standing beside the bed, folded his arms stiffly in front of his chest. "What are you going to do to me?" he asked. Though he obviously tried to suppress it, Minerva nevertheless heard the note of fear in his voice.

The webwork of lines on Albus' forehead suddenly seemed to deepen as his expression became graver still. "My dear child," he said softly. "Please have a seat, and I shall tell you."

Snape lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress, looking as though he expected it--or himself--to explode at any moment. Minerva was tempted to touch him somehow, perhaps a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder, but she doubted he'd allow it. And so she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, keeping her eyes on Albus' face as he continued.

"Severus, are you familiar with the branches of magic known as Occlumency and Legilimency?"

Snape nodded jerkily. "Vaguely. Sir." 

Minerva wondered if this suddenly academic question had reminded Snape of his schoolboy manners, and her lips twitched again in a suppressed smile.

"Very good," Albus replied, obviously pleased. "Would you please tell me what you know?"

"Only that Legilimency is the art of reading people's thoughts. Occlumency is the practice of guarding one's thoughts _against_ such an intrusion."

Albus nodded. "Excellent." He leant forward in the chair, watching Snape's face closely. "Now, what would you say if I told you that Lord Voldemort is a master Legilimens?"

Snape frowned for a moment, but then his eyes widened, and he looked from Minerva to Albus as if hoping his answer were wrong. "I--He'd know immediately if there was a traitor among his followers." He paled. "I can't return to him soon! As I understand it, Occlumency is extremely difficult to master. He'd kill me in an instant!" 

Minerva reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose, suddenly realising with horrible, frigid certainty what Albus intended. "Not necessarily, laddie," she murmured, closing her eyes and feeling ill.

"I'm afraid Professor McGonagall is correct, Severus," said Albus quietly. "There is a way--one way--for our plan to succeed."

Minerva opened her eyes only to see Severus go even whiter than before. "What is it?" he asked.

Albus sighed. "As you pointed out, mastery of Occlumency is very difficult. And it takes quite some time, even for the brightest of wizards." He gave Severus a small smile, including him in this category. "Were I a most skilled Legilimens--which, incidentally, I am--I could tear through any defences you or Professor McGonagall or all but a tiny handful of master Occlumens could raise. And I regret to say that Lord Voldemort could do the same." 

Snape glared down at his lap. "Then I don't have a chance."

"Ah, but we do." Albus raised a finger to still Snape's protests. "You see, my boy, the human mind has many levels. And a Legilimens looking for information will usually only go as deep as he must to obtain it. To go further is pointless and wastes both his energy and his time." He fixed his piercing gaze on Snape's face before continuing. "Like all leaders, Voldemort _wants_ his followers to be loyal. He may be suspicious of them, but he _hopes_ not to find traitors among them. And, if he easily discovered that a Death Eater was loyal, it is quite likely that he would look no further. Do you understand?"

Lank hair swayed slightly as Snape nodded. "I think I do. But how would that be possible?"

"Well, my boy--"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Albus! Stop beating about the bush!" Minerva interjected, unable to bear it any longer. 

She sighed and looked at Snape, trying not to sound as nauseated as she felt. "What he means is, whatever you want the Dark Lord to believe has to be the truth. If it is, and if he is satisfied with it, the tiniest bit of Occlumency will protect the rest." She swallowed hard, feeling even worse when she saw horror flicker across Snape's features. "Therefore, we'll need to make it true that you were tortured and questioned."

Albus steepled his fingers, still looking at Snape. "Unfortunately, that is correct, Severus. Will you consent?"

To Minerva's surprise, Snape barked a laugh. "Do I have a choice?"

"Of course, my child," replied Albus. "It is our choices that define us."

Snape was silent for a long moment, and Minerva, looking anxiously, saw that his fists were clenched so tightly their knuckles jutted out like marbles. At last, he looked up at Albus with an unreadable expression. "Yes," Snape said simply.

Albus closed his eyes, though whether in gratitude or pain Minerva could not tell. "Very well."

Snape took an audible breath. "May I ask what sort of torture you intend?"

But Minerva knew, with the sickening clarity of intuition that came unasked-for and always unexpectedly with her cursed Gift. "I'd like to speak with you privately, Albus," she said, keeping her voice steady by sheer force of will.

"Excuse us, Severus," said Albus, drawing his wand. He flicked it wordlessly, first at Minerva and then at himself, rendering their conversation inaudible to Snape. Then he turned to Minerva. "Yes, my dear?"

She was near tears, but she kept her face blank as she spoke, knowing that Snape could see her even if he couldn't hear her. "Why that curse? Of all things, Albus, why that one?"

He closed his eyes again. "It has been authorised by the Ministry, Minerva. I may not like it, but it will lend credence to Severus' story. It is what _he_ will expect."

Minerva knew Albus' reasoning was sound. She knew he was capable of the task; she'd seen him do it before. But she could not bear the thought--much less the reality--of him doing it to this boy. Not here. Not now. Not _him_. 

"Please..." she whispered, not entirely knowing what she was requesting.

Albus met her gaze steadily, his face set against her resistance. "I must, Kitten. For _his_ sake."

Minerva snapped, suddenly and inexplicably furious at his use of the endearment. "_Jesus_, Albus!" she cried, feeling her face turning red and not caring if the whole _castle_ could see or hear her. "How _can_ you do it? How _could_ you cast the Cruciatus on an innocent lad? He's a _good_ boy! He doesn't deserve that for his service! And if you _do_ insist upon this madness, don't expect me to sit here and _watch_ it!"

Her husband remained infuriatingly calm, and he spoke with a final preciseness. "Minerva. I am going to do it. And I _don't_ want you to watch. I'd like you to hold his hand, if you would. Comfort him afterwards; he'll need it. Mother him." A sad half-smile touched his lips. "You seem to be doing that already."

She dug her fingernails into her palms in order to keep from drawing her wand and hexing him on the spot. "You're going to cast an _Unforgivable_ on the child, and you'd like me to _hold his bloody hand_?!"

Albus' face went white, and his eyes became steely, as they always did when he was truly furious. "I am going to do what I swore to do years ago, Minerva," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "By _any means necessary_. I'd give my own life for the Cause in a heartbeat, were it required. And I'll be _damned_ if I spare this boy a moment's pain, only to send him to his death. Do you understand me?"

Minerva choked back a ragged sob. "I'm sorry," she whispered, wanting to cling to him but restraining herself due to Snape's presence. "I just--"

Albus nodded as if he knew all the things she couldn't say. "I know, Kitten. I know." He gave her a bittersweet smile before adding quietly, "And, had it been possible, you would've been a wonderful mother."

She closed her eyes to hold back tears and nodded, unable to speak. Albus cleared his throat. "We shouldn't keep him waiting."

When Albus released the spell, Snape simply looked at them for a moment, wide-eyed, as though shocked that they'd had a row. At last, he swallowed hard. "I, ah, couldn't help seeing your lips. The Cruciatus?"

Albus bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Severus. It is the only way."

Snape tried to smile and failed miserably. "I understand. And I've experienced it before."

"Well, I don't think congratulations are in order," replied Minerva brusquely, after surreptitiously wiping her eyes. "Are you ready to begin?"

She'd expected a raised brow, perhaps a snide comment, but Snape surprised her by merely nodding his assent. Minerva looked at Albus, helpless, as he stood and stepped away from the chair.

"Take his hand, Minerva," Albus commanded, in a quiet tone that brooked no argument.

Tentatively, she reached out and took Snape's long, pale hand in her own. He flinched at her touch but bore it; she ignored his withdrawal and clasped his cold fingers firmly. She dared not look at his face, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw him square his shoulders as though preparing for a blow.

"I will cast the curse on you for short periods of time, Severus," said Albus. "In between, I will ask you questions. I suggest you do not answer. At the very least, do not answer truthfully. Voldemort will doubtless wish to know whether or not you gave the requested information. If he were to discover that you did, your life would be in more danger than it already is."

"Yes, sir." Snape's whispered answer was almost inaudible.

"Very well," sighed Albus. He straightened stooped shoulders and pointed his wand at Snape.

Minerva longed to run screaming from the room, but she kept a tight grip on Snape's hand to prevent her own hand from shaking, and she kept her gaze resolutely on Albus.

In a heartbeat, like some horrific Transfiguration, his face changed. The lines became etched in stone, his mouth stern, his blue eyes hard and impenetrable. She drew in a deep breath, frightened of the great, terrible, unfathomable god her gentle husband had become.

"_Crucio_!"

And all thoughts of Albus were banished from Minerva's mind as Snape began to scream. He squeezed her hand so tightly she felt her bones pop and grind together. Her skin burned where he twisted it in his agony. She risked a glance at him and wished she hadn't, when she saw his head thrown back so far it seemed as though his neck would break at any second. Sweat bathed his bruised, sallow skin, and his eyes were closed tightly against a horror Minerva couldn't begin to understand. 

He sagged forward when Albus released the curse, though he didn't release Minerva's hand.

"Who are the members of the Inner Cadre?" Albus demanded, his voice deep and menacing, echoing in the tiny chamber.

"I--I don't--know," Snape panted. His eyes darted to and fro like a wild animal's, seeking escape.

"Tell me!"

"I don't _know_!"

"_Crucio_!"

And the nightmare began again. Snape screamed so violently that he gagged and choked, and he was sobbing so that tears as well as sweat now coated his cheeks. Minerva feared her hand was broken, and she bit her lips hard enough to taste blood in order not to cry out.

"Where is Voldemort's stronghold?"

"I...It's...in Belgium!"

"Liar! _Crucio_!"

And again.

"_Crucio_!"

And--

"_Crucio_!"

It was only a few moments, the curse cast for mere seconds, but Minerva felt as though she were trapped, out of time. It seemed like she'd been in the squalid room forever, in a hellish world of pain and blood and tortured, tearful screams.

She was scarcely aware when the cycle ended. She realised it only because the pattern broke; the rhythm was off. She came back to herself slowly, pushing through the crimson fog of pain.

Sounds first. Snape still wept, though his breaths were regular, now, and ragged. Robes rustled as Albus returned his wand to his sleeve. His booted footsteps approached the bed.

Her vision cleared, and she raised her eyes to see Albus standing before her. The stone god had crumbled; his face had fallen into an ashen ruin of lines that hadn't been there before. His lips were set firmly, but his over-bright eyes spoke volumes.

Minerva looked away, unable to forgive him just yet. She swallowed hard, shuddering at the salty taste of blood from the stinging cuts on her lips, and looked at Snape. He sat with his head bowed, face curtained by his hair, and his hunched shoulders were wracked with sobs. He still gripped her hand hard with cold, clammy fingers. Minerva's own fingers were ominously numb.

With infinite care, she reached over with her other hand and laid it lightly on his wrist. "Severus?" she whispered.

Snape raised his head and turned to her, though his wet black eyes seemed to look past her, or deep within themselves. Before he could speak, however, robes rustled again as Albus knelt before him.

"Forgive me, my child," he whispered hoarsely. "Forgive me."

Through a sudden blurring of tears, Minerva saw Snape's single, jerky nod. He then reached out as if desperate and grasped Albus' hand. Partly out of a desire to free her own abused hand, she shifted closer to Snape and pulled him close. "Come here, laddie."

He turned to Minerva with a grateful look and thankfully released her hand in order to put his arms about her. He clung like a child, resting his head upon her shoulder. She held him tightly, stroking his hair with painfully tingling fingers. Over Snape's head, she nodded for Albus to join them; she knew he'd suffered more than she had, and possibly even more than Snape.

Albus took a seat on the bed and began to gently rub Snape's back, murmuring soft words of comfort as only he knew how. Slowly, between them, the boy began to relax.

And soon, perhaps it was an after-effect of the shock or merely because he was comfortable, but Minerva happened to notice that Snape seemed...not to be relaxed any longer. In fact, one part of his anatomy was decidedly _not_ relaxed, as it was currently swelling near her thigh. Snape still had his face burrowed into her shoulder, so Minerva took the opportunity to shoot a significant glance at Albus. He merely smiled benignly and shrugged, continuing to stroke the boy's shoulders.

Minerva exhaled through her nose in worried exasperation, not knowing how to deal with the situation. Finally, as the problematic appendage grew too large to ignore, she gave Snape a soft tap on the shoulder. "Ahem. Severus? I couldn't help noticing your...erm."

Snape looked up at her, stricken, and a blush turned his cheeks deep fuchsia. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, averting his eyes.

"No, laddie, it's all right," she faltered, not certain if it was or not. "Would you like--"

He looked back at her with an expression so desperately hopeful that her reservations crumbled on the spot.

"Bloody hell," Minerva murmured, damning herself, and she leant close to press her lips to his.

Snape's lips parted beneath hers, and he kissed back hungrily, exploring her mouth with his tongue. And before she knew it, his hands touched her breasts through the fabric of her robes, squeezing gently as though to make up for the pain he'd caused her earlier.

She touched him as well, reaching up to stroke his hair and neck. Her hands met Albus' somewhere near Snape's shoulders, and she caressed his wrinkled skin with one hand even as she touched Snape with the other.

And soon she lay back on the bed, robes parted, with Snape above her and between her thighs. Torchlight threw his face into shadow; she saw only raven hair and pale, pale skin.

"Minerva," he breathed as he entered; the first time he'd called her by name. She closed her eyes and sighed, but dared not respond for fear of conjuring the name on her tongue.

But Snape brought him, too. At one point he panted, "Please. Please drive him away," as he rolled over with Minerva, onto their sides. And he wasn't speaking to her, for a moment later Albus' arm encircled Snape from behind, his hand coming to rest on Minerva's side.

And then it didn't matter whose hands touched her, whose leg brushed against hers, whose hair ticked her cheek. She had Albus and a boy who was student, child, lover, ghost... All those things and more, and it didn't matter as long as they loved him.

And they did.

And they did.

And--

Snape curled against her, resting his head upon her shoulder. Albus lay with his eyes closed, breathing deeply, though Minerva was uncertain whether he slept or not. She smiled softly, stroking Snape as she would a cat, trying to lull him to sleep.

She paused as he stirred beneath her touch, nestling closer. "Mother," he murmured, sounding content.

Minerva's breath hitched, and she stared at the ceiling, lost, torn between laughter and tears.

She settled for neither, but merely resumed touching him, doing the only thing she knew to be right.

She loved him.

And then, at long last, she slept.


End file.
